Out of the Dark
by RayWritesThings
Summary: On his way to the train station out of Starling City, Barry Allen comes across a Laurel Lance who has reached her breaking point. An offer of friendship changes the course of events in unexpected ways. WARNING: Suicide Attempt and Discussion of Suicide, AU of The Scientist/Three Ghosts


**Hello, all. This fic was something I've wanted to cover for a while, especially after rewatching some old episodes of Arrow and realizing they wrote a suicide joke for Felicity in the first season. Suicide is not a joke and is actually a very serious matter. If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal, especially as the holidays approach, please don't hesitate to reach out, whether to a friend or a professional or an organization. The International Bipolar Foundation, for instance, contains a list of suicide hotlines for a number of different countries on their website. We all need help from time to time.  
Many thanks to Kylia on AO3 and the Lauriver discord for beta-reading for me. I hope you all enjoy this re-write of the season 2 midseason finale, and the help that Laurel gets in it. Thanks for reading!**

**-RayWritesThings**

**Out of the Dark**

A small commotion near the entrance of the offices caused Laurel to look up, the first time she'd done so since arriving that day and most of the preceding week. Keeping your head down after losing a huge case was standard protocol, after all.

"Adam! Good to see you!"

"On your feet already?"

"This is just a visit," said Adam Donner, her immediate superior. "I wanted to let you all know I was doing fine before the holidays."

The holidays? It was really that time already, wasn't it? She'd completely forgotten. Not that it mattered much; she had no plans.

Laurel stood, smoothing down her skirt as she went to join the small crowd of her coworkers. As awkward as things had turned the previous month with the dinner they had shared, she didn't want him to think she was upset to see him recovered from the Count's attack. "Adam, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thanks, Laurel. Hey, uh, good try on the case."

Her attempt at a smile turned to a grimace. Every time she thought of Moira Queen's trial it brought a queasy mix of emotions. Frustration, guilt, relief and even confusion.

"It was open and shut," a voice near the back of the crowd muttered and a titter of laughter went around the room. There was the shame in that mix, too.

Of all the things she had left to hang onto, it was her skill at her job. And she had let an accomplice to the murder of 503 people walk. It didn't matter that a part of her was glad; the law had required her to do her job and she had failed. They all knew it.

"I hear Queen's having a big party for his mother tonight. Figures they'd want to gloat," said another coworker.

"It's not to gloat, it's just their holiday tradition," Laurel couldn't help disputing. Oliver would never do something that brazen, at least, not the Oliver who had come back the previous year from that island.

"Yeah? Guessing you didn't get an invite this year."

Another round of laughter went up.

"Alright people," Kate Spencer's voice announced her arrival. "Adam, thanks for coming in. My office, we'll talk about the next assignments coming through." Their boss walked away, not even sparing Laurel a glance. Kate had never liked her, even back when Laurel had been at CNRI.

She returned to her own desk, trying to shut out the whispers that followed, that had been following her the last several days. Why had the Count chosen Adam of all people to attack? Why couldn't he have been the one to question Moira on the stand, to help shoulder some of this failure?

Or maybe he wouldn't have failed. That thought seized her heart in an icy grip. Then Oliver and Thea would be planning a memorial service instead of a party. Neither of which she would ever be welcome at again.

She understood. How could either of the siblings want anything to do with her after what had happened in the courtroom? Even if Oliver had checked on her after, that was probably just out of courtesy. They'd promised to stay in each other's lives — he'd promised to never leave even when that was all he ever did — but it couldn't stand something like what she'd done. It was better that he just give up now. She'd rather just get it over with.

Laurel worked until it was dark. It was mostly just moving folders around and filing notes. She hadn't been given anything serious to do since the Queen case, and she doubted she would be for some time. She'd joined the DA's office because she'd seen it as her best way forward after losing CNRI, but each day it grew harder to get out of bed in the morning. Once the people who shared the open floor in her office had all signed out and left for the night, she got out the bottle she kept in her desk. It was easier to just have it on hand, especially since her father had been snooping into her business and was on a first name basis with almost any bartender in Starling City. Even if he was conveniently forgetting why that was in his pursuit to police his own daughter.

Why couldn't he understand what she was going through? If anyone should, it would be him. She hadn't seen him since that bizarre visit he had made to her apartment going on about her becoming a parent some day. Laurel snorted before finishing her glass. Like that was happening anytime soon. Or ever.

Kate's door opened and Laurel hastily stashed the bottle away, almost fumbling the cap. Adam was the only one who emerged, and he blinked in surprise at her.

"Burning the midnight oil? It's nearly Christmas."

"Crime never sleeps."

"Yeah, but you should. Come on, you can walk me out."

With little room to say no, Laurel stood, hesitating when he held out her coat for her to step into. She couldn't exactly snatch it from his hands, however, so she let him help her with it.

"There should be a taxi waiting for me. Doctors say I should wait a few more days before operating heavy machinery," he told her. "Do you need a lift?"

"No, thank you." Laurel hadn't brought her car — after being stopped by that cop, she was a little leery of driving — but she did not want to confine herself to small quarters with Adam.

He favored her with an understanding smile. "Hey, we all have our early losses. It'll all blow over. We'll find something new to work on."

Laurel nodded with a tight smile. A taxi pulled up to the curb.

"This is me." He leaned to the side of her then, and she jerked back just as his lips barely brushed her cheek.

"Sorry." Why was she apologizing?

"No, that's alright. I didn't mean — well, it's the holidays. Merry Christmas, Laurel."

She couldn't answer him, her mind stuck on a Christmas only a year ago where a different man had kissed her cheek and wished her well for the holidays. It didn't feel like a year ago; it felt like an age.

The taxi honked, and Adam got inside. It pulled away, leaving her out in the cold.

Laurel started walking, though not back to her apartment. She didn't feel like going back there right away, disgusted as she was with herself. How many times had she represented women who felt uncomfortable in their workplace because of coworkers or superiors, and now here she was stuck in the same trap? Too scared to say anything for fear of losing the only purpose she had left. Assuming she would ever be given anything of purpose again. Her mind was chasing itself around in circles.

She didn't want Mrs. Queen to be dead, but she wanted the city to feel that justice had been done. She wanted justice for Tommy.

But then, Moira Queen hadn't helped to kill Tommy. Tommy was only gone because of her. Even her father hadn't disagreed with her about that. He hadn't said a word.

Laurel sagged against the railing she'd been using off and on to support herself. It was only now that she realized she was on the footpath of one of their bridges, heading towards the Glades. Maybe she could sneak into the Verdant for a drink while Thea and Oliver were both celebrating with their family and friends. Her father probably wouldn't find out if she'd been there.

Was this what her life was now? Skirting around the corners of the people she knew and cared for? Stuck on the outside while they moved on with their lives? They wanted her to be happy like them, but she just couldn't be. What was wrong with her?

Her hands found a little latch, and she stared at it for a moment. Someone had hitched a lock onto part of the railing. There were a few of them, actually. One was painted with a fading heart.

Oh. She remembered hearing about these. Love locks. She studied each one intently. Some were plain, some had pairs of initials written or painted on them. Little mementos to love that these people had.

She thought of Tommy, his declaration and the suitcase he'd packed anyway. She thought, too, of a tear-stained letter sitting in a drawer at her apartment. _Never doubt my love for you._ Oh, but she did.

Oliver had called her a hero, but he could see now she wasn't. When had she ever really saved anyone? It was always someone else coming in, having to help her. The Hood, who probably hated her; her father, who was disappointed in her; Tommy, who had died because of her.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy," she whispered to no one. Her head rested on the rail and she stared for a while at the water rushing by below. There was something almost hypnotic about it, knowing where it flowed out into the bay and joined the ocean, to the same water that had swallowed up Sara. The daughter who had died while she was the daughter who lived.

Lived instead of Sara, lived instead of Tommy. And for what? It would've been better for her to perish in the quake, or maybe at the prison riot or when the Triad had attacked her home, so she wouldn't have broken Tommy's heart. Maybe _she_ should have been the one on that boat so her mother wouldn't have felt so guilty and left, so her dad would still have his baby girl and not felt such a need to drink, so she wouldn't be carrying this terrible guilt and loneliness within her heart.

She'd been drowning all these years anyway in those swirling dark depths.

Laurel lifted her head from the rail. The night air was whipping her hair around her face, but it was as if the chill couldn't touch her now. Could she really just…?

What else did she have to lose? She swallowed, the film of alcohol feeling thick on her tongue. What left was there? She could wait around and let herself be shunned out of the DA's office by Kate Spencer and her disapproving looks or by Adam when she turned him down one too many times. She could wait for her father's mood to turn sour towards her again, as it always did ever since the _Gambit_ had sunk. She could wait until Oliver felt like trying to talk to her again, those quick little bursts in between days or weeks of nothing, like she was a pot on the stove he checked every once in a while to make sure it didn't boil over.

She was tired of waiting for things. Tired of everything. Laurel couldn't see any other way forward, not on this cold December night.

It didn't even enter her mind to leave a note. No one would find it for days, probably. And they just wouldn't understand. Oliver had fought all those years to survive and come home. _There was something I wanted more._ He didn't want her anymore. No one did. How would he understand her choice?

They could all pretend she had just slipped away quietly from the city. No body, no need for her dad to pay the funeral expenses. He was making less on a beat cop's salary. Better for him not to have to buy the land for another empty grave. Better for everyone. It was her Christmas present to them all; not to have to deal with her anymore.

She stepped onto the lower half of the rail, her left heel getting caught in the spokes. Growling under her breath, she wriggled her foot around, trying to free it. She couldn't take the shoe off: evidence.

Her hands gripped the rail, pulling herself up. The water was a roar in her ears drowning out everything. Even a distant shout.

"Hey!"

Laurel closed her eyes.

And then she was abruptly seized from behind.

—-

Barry was running late, as always.

After Captain Singh's rather pointed phone call, he had left Felicity behind at Queen Consolidated to try and catch a train out to Central. He had a feeling he wasn't going to make it, especially since he'd so far failed at flagging down the few taxis he'd spotted. Hardly anyone was out tonight, and why would they be? It was late, dark and cold, and the holidays were nearly upon them.

Barry was forced to revise his statement as he drew up to an intersection leading to a bridge. There was someone else out tonight besides him after all. A woman, standing at the railing and looking out at the water. Actually, she was _very_ close to the rail. Almost too close.

She put her foot up onto it, and it clicked in his brain.

"Oh no," Barry said to himself, and then he started running, his suitcase forgotten.

"Hey!"

The woman didn't even startle at his shout. She was half leaned over the rail already.

With a burst of speed he hadn't thought himself capable of and a stitch developing in his side, Barry cleared the footpath and raced down to the middle of the bridge. He did the first thing he could think of, which was to throw his arms around her middle.

It was maybe the wrong move.

Immediately she tried throwing him off her with a surprising amount of strength for someone so thin. It was all he could do to hold on so as to keep her from toppling over.

"Let _go!_"

"Sorry, really don't want to do that!"

An elbow smashed into his face, narrowly missing his nose where it no doubt would have broken it. Barry staggered back but managed to keep his grip on the woman, with which his leverage was able to do the rest. She came off the rail, falling in a heap on top of him as he landed on his back in the footpath.

Her head lifted, eyes bleary and bloodshot. "What? Who- who are you?"

"Are you okay?" Barry asked once he got his breath back. He struggled to sit up. "Well, no, you're not. But I meant, you're not hurt?"

Her head shook slowly. Her breath smelled of alcohol, and he could tell now looking at her facial structure that she really was too thin.

"Can you tell me your name? I'm Barry," he added, figuring it was best he went first.

"Laurel," she answered.

"Laurel," he repeated, "hi. Can you, um, tell me what you were doing out here? I mean why you wanted to…" Barry cringed at his own inability to say it, but her eyes followed his to the bridge railing.

"I, um. I was just…"

Like a switch went off in her brain, she was suddenly clinging to him desperately.

"I don't know what I was— I don't want to die, oh God!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he did his best to reassure her. Truthfully he felt incredibly relieved she'd come to that decision on her own.

"I don't want to die, I just- I just wanted everything to _stop,_" she cried into his coat. Barry rubbed at her back and tried to think of something more meaningful to say.

"I'm sorry things are — well, you're clearly having a rough time. Can I get you to somewhere? A family member or, or maybe the hospital?"

"No." She shook her head and clutched onto him tighter. "I can't— if my job found out, they'd put me on leave or suspend me. And I can't put this on my father, I can't."

"Okay," he agreed, hoping to calm her. "We don't have to go anywhere." She was shivering in his arms, though. "Maybe just somewhere to sit down? Come on."

Barry helped her up and kept their arms linked as they walked off the bridge and back to the intersection. His suitcase had fallen onto its side, so he righted it and started wheeling it along behind them.

"Don't you need to find a hotel?" She asked quietly, her voice sounding thick but her tears at last subsiding.

"No. Actually, I was on my way home."

She looked back in the direction of the train station. "But you'll miss the last one."

"I probably already did. It's okay, I don't mind."

He walked them around in circles a few times before finding a tiny cafe with their 'open' sign still lit up. Barry ushered her inside and to a table. He ordered a black coffee for her and a latte for himself, figuring she needed about as much caffeine as possible to fully sober up. She didn't complain when he passed it to her, at the least, just cupped her hands around it and stared into the dark liquid.

"How much was it?"

"It doesn't matter."

She frowned didn't argue. He must have been firm enough, or maybe she was just too overwhelmed with the choice she'd almost made. The latter sounded more believable.

Barry sat and sipped at his latte, watching for her to do the same with her coffee. She grimaced as it went down.

"Sorry."

"It's not the worst cup I've had," she remarked. Then her lip trembled and she grabbed a napkin to wipe at her eyes with. "God, you must think I'm a basket case. You really don't have to stay with me."

"Well, I think someone should," he told her honestly. "And you won't go to your family, so it may as well be a friend."

"Trust me, you don't want to be my friend."

"I feel like there's gotta be someone in your life who would tell you that's not true."

She placed her coffee down and rubbed her hands over both temples. "The people in my life...they come and go when they feel like it. Or, um, when they need something. And I finally got sick of it, so I just pushed them all away. It's not really their fault," she added when he opened his mouth. "I'm not an easy person to be around, I guess. I'm emotional, clingy, stubborn. I take on more than I can handle, and then I need rescuing."

"Have they said that?"

"Not in that many words. But I know there's something wrong with me." She said it so matter-of-factly it stunned him. Then, past the shock there was pain. How could someone have become so convinced of something like that?

"Would you still believe that once you're sober?"

She exhaled on a shaky laugh. "I wish I could say no. I wish I could say I wouldn't have done, well, _that_ either. But I have a problem. I do, I can't just ignore it anymore."

"You said you wanted everything to stop," Barry reminded her. "Is there a lot going on in your life right now?"

"Yes and no," she sighed. "I, um, lost someone. Last spring in the Glades."

"I'm sorry." Barry had watched the news coverage. So had everyone. It had been hard to conceptualize that much destruction but now he was faced with the aftermath on an intensely personal level.

"It was...it could have been avoided." Her gaze was back on her coffee cup. "And afterwards, I thought maybe I could keep going. I had, um, well I thought I had something with an old friend. But he left, and when he finally came back I just pushed him away. I pushed everyone away. And I don't know how to fix that."

"Well, maybe you should take some time off. I know you're worried about your job, but it's around the holidays anyway. You could take a couple days and just figure things out. Maybe visit somebody."

She shook her head. A smile that was bitter twisted her lips. "I don't have anyone to visit."

"No extended family? College friends?" Barry wasn't ready to give up trying.

"Just a mom who lives in Central."

He face lit up with a smile. "Hey, that's my city!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! And it's great there, especially around the holidays. They put a big tree up and the streets are all lined with lights. There's a lot to do."

"You work for the tourism board or something?"

He grinned. If she wanted to make jokes at his expense, that was fine. Joking was much better than the defeated tone she'd had before. "Nope. People from out of town say we're all like this. Have you been to your mom's?"

She shook her head.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I only found out she was staying there less than a year ago," she told him. "It's a long story."

"You seem to have a lot of those."

She let out a watery chuckle, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah." Her hands came away stained with mascara. "Do you mind if I go to the ladies' for a second?" She stood up, but paused at the table. "I promise I'm not gonna do anything stupid."

"Okay," Barry agreed slowly. He wasn't an expert in this, but he thought he ought to show her some trust. She stood up on much steadier legs and went down the little hallway in the back. Barry hunched over and placed his head in his hands. Breathing in and out helped to bring down the stress he'd barely been hiding.

He knew, of course, this sort of thing happened. Especially around the holidays. Officers at the precinct trained for it, how to de-escalate the situation and keep the person from doing harm to themselves. He had no idea if he was following the right protocol, and despite the late hour he badly wanted to call Joe for some advice.

Barry checked his watch as the barista went into the back storeroom for something. It had been a few minutes. Should he check on her? Listen at the door? Was that wrong?

His worrying abruptly cut off when, out of nowhere, a dart embedded itself into his neck and he lost consciousness.

Barry awoke in a chair in a darkened room, Felicity Smoak swimming into view in front of him. "Wha—?"

His head jerked around. There was Oliver Queen's bodyguard and something on a table. Rows and rows of green-tipped arrows. _The Vigilante._ This had to be his base.

But where— what had happened to Laurel? How long had he been out? Had anyone checked on her? Oh God—

"Barry." Felicity had stepped forward and forcefully took hold of his hands to redirect his focus. "Please save my friend."

Her friend, as it turned out, was Oliver Queen. Oliver Queen, as it turned out, was also the vigilante.

The next several minutes were a blur. Oliver was close to death, and the only treatment available was risky at best. The rat poison got him to stop flailing, thankfully, and after a while his vitals came back stable.

"Okay. Keep monitoring him," Barry told Felicity and Diggle. "I just have to go back—"

"Back where?" Felicity cried. "Barry, we found you in a cafe instead of the train station. Would have taken us _forever_ by the way if I hadn't pinged your phone."

"You pinged my phone?" Barry blinked. That wasn't important right now. "Okay, well there's sort of an important—"

"This is important. This is Oliver's life we're talking about here!"

"What if he starts seizing again while you're gone?" Diggle pointed out with a frown.

Barry deflated. He didn't want to have to choose between two people, but the likelihood Laurel was even still at the cafe was probably slim. And he couldn't exactly explain to the other two the situation; they clearly hadn't seen her and might not even believe him. To their eyes, it probably looked like he was trying to sneak away so he could tell the authorities about all of this.

So he slumped back into his chair.

Oliver eventually woke up and was remarkably rude for someone who's life Barry had just saved. Then he and the others still needed help tracking down Cyrus Gold. When Barry did finally have a quiet moment to himself, he jogged back to the little cafe. There were other patrons there now, but no Laurel. He jogged over to the bridge and didn't find anything of note there either, though if she had come back here hours ago...his insides squirmed.

Barry was called back to administer a test on Oliver's blood to see if anything was still in his system. He worried over both problems for a time, occupying his hands with molding a mask out of tripolymer fabric for Oliver.

There was nothing in Oliver's blood but he still had to go face Cyrus Gold a final time. Barry's phone had been going off with calls and texts from first Joe and then Iris, which he couldn't really ignore forever. He finally left Felicity and Diggle in their base and got on the train, getting out his Harrison Wells biography to try and clear his mind.

Had he done enough? Did Laurel really believe there were things or people in her life worth going on for? What if he'd failed?

These worries plagued him through the whole day. He couldn't come up with anything substantial to tell Iris about his trip. He couldn't stop the guy who stole her purse and got hit in the face for his trouble. He could barely concentrate on the coverage of the particle accelerator on the news in his lab.

Instead, he took out his phone and dialed Felicity to let her know he'd made it back and to inform her about the gift he'd left behind for Oliver. Though as he thought about the vigilante, an idea came to him.

"Actually, if I could ask Oliver a favor?"

"What kind of favor?"

"It's a personal one." He didn't exactly feel comfortable relating something so sensitive through a game of telephone. "Could you give him the phone?"

"Okay," Felicity said after a short pause. He heard her calling to Oliver, slightly muffled.

A few moments later, he heard the man's voice. "The favor?"

Right to the chase, okay. "Um, yeah. I was hoping you could — I mean, I know it's not really your area of what you normally do with your night job and it might be a little hopeless—"

"Barry," Oliver said, indicating he was meant to wrap it up.

"When Felicity and Diggle went to get me, I was in a cafe."

"They told me."

"Right, well I was there instead of waiting for a train because I- I met somebody. Somebody who was having kind of a rough time. And I'm worried about her."

There was a pause. "Barry, I'm not really sure what you're asking me to do here."

He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. This was a lot harder to just come out and say than he'd thought. "I'm asking you to find out if she's okay, because when I met her she was trying to go over the bridge, Oliver."

"Oh." It was more a soft exhalation than the word itself. "I'm sorry they pulled you away from that."

"Yeah, well, you did need medical attention. I just didn't know how to find her after, and I guess I'm hoping you can." Maybe the Arrow wasn't most people's first choice to run wellness checks, but Barry felt Oliver did truly care about the citizens of his city. Even if he hid that under a hood.

"Did you have her address? A family contact?" Oliver asked only moments later, proving Barry right.

He shook his head, then realized that wasn't very productive. "No, she was pretty adamant not to involve her family. Her father, she said that specifically," he remembered. "I wish I'd been able to get a picture of her for you or something, but I only have the name she gave me: Laurel."

The line went dead silent on the other end for a long moment, long enough that Barry lifted the phone away from his ear to check if the call was still going. It was. "Oliver?"

"You—" Oliver had to pause and try again; his voice had cracked. "You're sure she said Laurel?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I have to go." There was a sound on the other end, some kind of muffled _thump_ and then Felicity's voice rather close calling Oliver's name — he must have passed the phone back to her.

"Barry, what's going on? Why did Oliver say Laurel's name?"

"Uh…" He wasn't sure what to say in the face of evidence that Oliver and his team knew a Laurel. Was she the same one Barry had met? The same lonely, desperate woman who didn't seem to think her loved ones would have missed her much or cared? What did that say?

"It's probably best he tells you," Barry eventually decided. It wasn't his place. At the least, Oliver knew exactly how to find Laurel and could make certain she was alright. That eased some of his worry. "I should get off the phone." He was waiting on Joe's call for a ride from the precinct, after all. "Goodbye, Felicity."

She said her goodbye as well, and Barry put away his phone. Maybe now his conscience would be eased, especially if Oliver let him know what he found out.

Of course, Barry would end up having to wait a very long time for that.

—-

Oliver changed and left the base without opening Barry's gift or answering either of his team member's questions. There was only one thought in his mind: _she was trying to go over the bridge, Oliver._

His heart was in his throat as he reached apartment 305 and knocked on the door. "Laurel? Please, if you're at home, can you open the door?"

He couldn't hear anything. Oliver took out his phone, noticing one missed call from Felicity already. He ignored the notification and instead called Laurel's cell phone.

After a few rings, it sent him to her voicemail. "Hi, this is Laurel. I'm either at work or otherwise unavailable. Leave your name and number with a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Laurel, it's Oliver. Please call me." He didn't bother with his number. He knew she had it.

When a second round of knocking at her door produced no response, he went to the outside of the building and it's fire escape. This was the first time he'd ever entered this way without his vigilante suit on, but he'd explain himself after he saw her.

Except Laurel wasn't home. He couldn't find anything out of place. There wasn't any food sitting out abandoned or something big and obvious missing. It just looked like she had stepped out for some indeterminate amount of time.

Like forever.

He was dialing her number again before he realized, and it rang and rang. Ringing was good. It meant her phone was on and working. It wasn't broken in a fall or dead in the water.

"Still Oliver. Just, whenever you can, Laurel, _please._"

He took his bike over to the DA's office, but it was clear at this time of night, no one was there. All the lights were off. He still slipped inside to have a look. Her desk was tidy. It didn't look like anything was wrong.

But Laurel didn't normally have a tidy desk. It was covered in papers and post it notes and pens, some of which bore bite marks on the lid. A tidy desk looked normal on the outside, but it spoke of something wrong to someone who really knew her.

Just like Laurel's behavior had been the last two months. He'd tried to push his worries about it aside when she pushed back. He'd told himself he it wasn't his place. Lord, what had he done?

His phone rang, and he scrambled to pick it up. "Laurel?"

"No, Felicity. You know, the girl you left behind in the base along with John without any kind of explanation?"

Oliver grit his teeth as he walked back out to his bike. "I don't have time."

"We're your team, we're supposed to help you when you don't have time. So what's this about Laurel? Is she okay?"

"I don't know," he admitted in a small voice. "I can't — can you trace her phone? I have one more lead I can follow."

"Okay," Felicity agreed, though he could hear her frustration at not being given the answers she'd wanted. He just couldn't say it out loud, he wasn't ready to put the words out there. To possibly make them real.

Oliver parked his bike outside of Starling General, sneaking his way past the front desk to head up to Lance's room. He already knew the location, having visited him as the Arrow only hours ago. Hours that could have been crucial to someone they both cared for. Hours they hadn't realized they were taking for granted.

Whatever guilt he felt about possibly waking the man up dissipated when Quentin Lance immediately blinked his eyes open at his entrance. His injuries were likely making sleep hard to come by. The guilt returned tenfold.

"...Queen? What're you doing here?" There was confusion more than anything in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Officer Lance. I just was wondering if you'd seen Laurel in—" his heart dropped as he realized just how long it had been since he'd seen her himself. "—the last week or so? I wanted to see how she was doing. I know the holidays have been, uh, hard for you both."

Lance snorted, or tried to. "Yeah, this one's not looking to be any better. They called her after I was checked in. She's my contact. They said she was having trouble getting here. Something about a train."

"A train?" Oliver couldn't help the sharpness in his voice. What would Laurel have been around a train for, unless—?

"Yeah, they said something about it...you alright?"

"I— yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Officer Lance."

"Yeah, well, never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad she's got you looking out for her."

Oliver could only offer a tight, closed-lipped smile that probably barely passed muster before fleeing the room.

He hadn't done enough to look after her. And he could blame her anti-Hood stance or the court case against his mother all he wanted, but in the end he'd asked Laurel to be in his life without really offering her the same. He'd been a coward, too afraid she might judge him for the mistakes he'd made since coming back from the island. With each mission he took on at night, each secret he kept, it became easier to just hold her at arm's length. He hadn't meant to, but he'd left her all alone.

Had he left her to drown?

Oliver stopped outside the hospital, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit, his head in his hands. He couldn't bare the idea of checking, of calling it in. What it would do to her family and to him. He couldn't lose her like this, God. He wasn't sure if he was pleading or praying.

His phone rang twice before he had the presence of mind to pick it up. "...hello?"

"Oliver, you sound terrible. What is happening?" Felicity demanded.

"Did you find something?" He asked, wiping furiously at his cheeks wet with tears.

"I did. I'm just not sure — her phone says she's at the Central City train station."

It took a moment to process. "Central?"

"Yes."

The nurses had told Lance something about a train, that she was having trouble getting to the hospital because of it. Ticket trouble. Or scheduling. Something gloriously mundane.

Just as his heart started to beat normally again, Felicity continued. "But it's not a good place to be right now. I checked the news. Oliver, the particle accelerator that launched tonight exploded."

"Exploded?"

"The whole city's lost power. I- I can't reach Barry," Felicity added in a trembling voice. "He's just not answering."

The same way Laurel wasn't.

Oliver took a deep breath and pushed up onto his feet. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Oliver—"

"I'm going there." If Laurel was there, then that was where he needed to be. He hung up, neither ready nor willing to participate in a drawn out argument.

Barry had talked Laurel out of it, that much was clear. For that, he would always be grateful to the scientist, no matter what had become of him in this explosion.

But Laurel's fate may still have been cruelly decided. A chill that had nothing to do with the December air went through him at the thought, sinking into his very bones.

He had to get to her. Do whatever he could. _Try,_ completely this time. He might never get the chance again.

—-

Laurel groaned as she sat up, trying to shake the ringing in her ears. It nearly covered up the sound of approaching sirens, but then as those got louder they blended together making everything hurt worse.

She had to laugh at herself. She really did have the worst ideas. The laugh turned into a cough as she rubbed at her throat. _Ugh,_ why did that have to hurt, too? She must have really shouted when that train…

"Never listen to a Jiminy Cricket before Christmas," she managed to grumble to herself.

At least, that's what she'd decided the tall, lanky man named Barry had been. A figment of a Good Samaritan she's made up for herself, who had disappeared the minute she had turned her back with only a half-drunk latte to prove he might have once been there. It could have been anyone's, really. She'd been half-drunk when they'd stumbled into the little shop.

Laurel had chosen to take Barry's advice and get out of her normal routine for a couple of days. She hadn't said anything to anyone before packing; in the sober light of day, she was ashamed and terrified of what she had almost done and knew the others would feel the same with a healthy dash of disappointment. She just had to keep moving, even if nothing ever got better.

Laurel had packed an overnight bag and boarded an early train to Central by the time Thea's text had come through asking if she could stop by the house to help her and her friends with something. Laurel had felt a pang of regret but written back that she wasn't able to for a couple of days. Thea had said that was fine and wished her a happy holiday. Laurel had been glad no one she knew was around to see her eyes water at that simple sentiment. Thea probably hadn't known just how much that meant to her.

She'd arrived in Central in daylight, so the strings of lights down the streets had not been lit. Still, for a city, it held the feel of a small town somehow, everyone smiling and happy. She'd found herself able to breathe easier because of it. At least until it had started to get dark and she'd known she needed to either find or hotel or head to her mother's.

Laurel had the address written down on a scrap of paper from one of the last times they'd talked. If she'd gone there, would she have been able to tell her mother what had almost happened?

It hadn't come to it. She had gotten a call.

"May I speak to Dinah Lance?"

"This is her daughter," Laurel had responded automatically, her mind having still been on her mother.

"We have a Dinah L. Lance listed as the emergency contact for Officer Quentin Lance?"

"Oh! Yes, that's me. You — is this the hospital?"

"Yes. Your father was admitted early this evening due to sustaining injuries in a raid. He's in surgery."

Laurel's hand had gone over her mouth. "Will he be alright?"

"He came in in better condition than some of the other members of the unit," the desk nurse had told her. "The doctors will know more later. You're welcome to come wait to speak to them."

Laurel had looked around herself, feeling totally helpless as she'd admitted. "I'm six-hundred miles away. I- I took a trip."

Why did every decision she made end up hurting someone she cared about?

"That's alright. We'll let him know."

"No, tell him I'm on my way back. I'll be on the next train, I promise."

She'd hurried back to the train station, finding it full of last-minute travelers for the holidays. After standing in line for what had felt an age, it had finally been her turn.

"I need a one-way ticket for the first train that gets to Starling."

"You missed the previous one by fifteen minutes," the person at the booth had informed her, and Laurel had barely held in a curse. "Next one comes in an hour."

"Okay, fine, that one. Please."

She'd stood on the platform with a handful of others, her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. A television mounted in one corner near the ceiling had displayed a news woman in what had appeared to be a growing storm outside.

"_Wait, we're now being told to evacuate the facility. The storm may have caused a malfunction to the primary cooling system. Officials are now trying to shut down the particle accelerator, but so far, have been unable to regain control of the system—"_

Abruptly, the TV and then the lights had cut out. Yelps of surprise and alarm had gone up throughout the building.

There's been a tremendous _boom_ from outside, and Laurel's hair had stood up on the back of her neck.

The horn of the approaching train had been a loud blare as it had turned the corner into the station, driving blind in the total dark. Laurel had been jostled as people had pushed at each other in a blind panic to move as far back as possible. She'd tripped and cried out as a strange, translucent ripple of _something_ had knocked into her, throwing her off her feet, and then—

She'd woken up on the same train platform.

"Alright, folks, the generator should kick in in a minute," a voice called out. Flashlight beams danced over them all. Then there was a flicker and a hum, and Laurel was blinking back spots in her vision from the sudden flood of light.

"Any more injuries?" The same voice asked next.

Laurel looked herself over. Aside from the soreness and the ringing that was slowly fading away, she didn't think she needed a hospital. One leg of her pantyhose had scraped in the fall; they resembled fishnets more than anything else.

Laurel heard a new ringing, this time coming from her pocket. She took out her phone, surprised to see the notification that she had four missed calls already and two messages. The fifth call was still was still ringing: _Ollie._

Laurel hit the accept button and cleared her throat. "Hello?"

"Laurel!" It was a shout, but not one of anger or frustration. She wasn't sure the last time she'd heard Oliver sound so relieved and overjoyed at once. "Oh, thank God."

"Ollie?"

"Are you still at the train station?"

"I — how did you know that?"

"Laurel, where are you?"

"Yes, I'm at the station. In Central City," she added, though for some reason he seemed to already know that.

Her suspicion was confirmed when he said, "I'll be there in eight and a half hours."

"Why?"

There was a pause. "Laurel, there was an explosion."

"I know that. I just—" It didn't make sense, how intensely he cared and then the distance he would immediately put up after. "I'm okay. I just had a fall."

And her throat felt funny, but that was likely a cold more than anything.

"Get checked out at the hospital."

"Oliver—"

"Please? I'll cover anything your insurance doesn't." He really was pleading, she realized. He was borderline hysterical.

"Okay," she agreed hesitantly.

"Thank you. I'll be there as soon as I can. I — please stay safe."

He hung up. Laurel sat there, blinking at her phone, until a man in a paramedic's uniform came over to her.

"You alright, miss?"

"I think so? My, uh, friend thinks I should head to the hospital. I fell when the power went out."

He nodded. "Alright, we'll make sure you get checked out."

Laurel was taken over to Central City General along with a number of others. A small clinic-style area had been set up to one side where a nurse shined a light in her eyes and had her follow her finger around.

"Any headache or nausea?"

"Not really. Just a sore throat."

"Hm." The nurse got out a tongue depressor and looked in her mouth with a flashlight, then felt around her throat. The nurse stepped away after that, leaving Laurel a clipboard with which to fill out her information. She did so, pausing at the spot where an emergency contact was meant to be filled in. Her whole life, she'd put down her father's information, but with him already in the hospital it made little sense. She thought of putting her mother, but the poor woman didn't even realize Laurel was in the same city right now.

In the end, she wrote down Oliver's name and number, glancing around furtively as though someone was about to pop up and judge her for it. He already knew she was here, had insisted on it himself.

The nurse came back after a time with a harried-looking doctor. Laurel had to wonder how busy they all were and why they were bothering with her at all.

"You came in here with a sore throat you say you weren't experiencing before the explosion?" He asked her with no preamble. Laurel nodded. He took his own turn examining the inside of her mouth and feeling around her neck. "Could be strep. You might have gotten it before and only noticed the symptoms now. Vocal nodes is unlikely, but we're perhaps not quite able to rule it out—"

"Vocal nodes?" Asked an unfamiliar voice. Laurel turned her head to see a man in a wheelchair roll closer to her cot. He had rather piercing eyes behind his glasses. "A very interesting theory and result if true."

Her doctor gave an uncomfortable cough. "Dr. Wells, you really shouldn't be up so soon."

Dr. Wells tipped his head in acknowledgment of that. "Forgive me. I couldn't lie still in bed knowing what my mistake has cost so many people. I thought if I might be able to make myself useful…"

"That's quite alright," Laurel's doctor said with a fair amount of force. "I'm very sure it's strep."

"All the same." Dr. Wells took a card out of his pocket and set it on the end of Laurel's cot. "If you find yourself in need of any assistance, Miss- ah—"

"Lance," Laurel filled in for him.

"Of course." A smile curved his lips and his eyes practically seemed to glint. "Miss Lance. My lab would be happy to do whatever we can."

"Thank you." Laurel picked up the card. She'd surmised as much, but the STAR Labs logo beside his name confirmed this was the scientist who had set off this whole disaster. Laurel pocketed the card, internally making a note to stay about as far away from someone that crazy as possible.

With another smile, he moved on towards the ICU, judging by the signage on the wall.

Her doctor shook his head. "I suggest you see a primary care physician about prescribing you an antibiotic for strep."

Laurel nodded. "Am I free to go?"

"If you aren't experiencing any other trouble, yes."

Laurel slid off her cot and took her bag with her out to the waiting room, sitting amongst worried family members and friends of the patients still being treated. The mood was somber, with some being shown to rooms and others leaving in tears as the hours passed.

Late in the night or perhaps early in the morning, she saw an older officer enter and head to the desk, visibly distressed.

"I'm looking for Barry Allen."

"Barry," Laurel muttered to herself. Not the most common name, and a Barry in Central City? She started to stand.

"Laurel!"

Laurel jumped, turning back to the doors. "Oliver!"

He'd said eight and a half hours. It had been seven. She had no idea how fast he must have been going to shave down that travel time, or how he'd avoided getting ticketed at all. Oliver was in front of her in the next instant, pulling her into a hug so tight she forgot to breath for a moment.

"Thank God," she heard him murmur again into her hair. Then his lips pressed to the top of her head.

"Ollie, I- I'm really fine." She pulled back to look at him, surprised to see tears in his eyes. "Are you fine?"

He swallowed, shaking his head. "Am I— I'm sorry. So sorry. I knew you weren't okay, and I should have done more. God, what could have happened."

Laurel's heart dropped. The way he was talking, it was almost like he _knew._ "Ollie, how…?"

"Barry told me."

Her jaw dropped. About a million questions occurred to her in that instant. How had Barry figured out who she was? Why had he contacted Oliver? How had he contacted Oliver? Barry was even _real?_

"I could have lost you," Oliver was saying.

Laurel's throat felt like it was burning, but she knew it had little to do with any illness. "Please, not here."

He looked around the waiting room, as if noticing all the other people for the first time. Some of them were staring while others were still lost in their own troubles. Oliver collected himself and then nodded, leading her by the hand out of the hospital.

It had stopped raining, at least, and wasn't as cold as she might have thought. Or maybe that was the heat in her cheeks as she cast a glance at him. "I told him not to tell anybody." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough that he heard her.

"He didn't know we knew each other," he said.

Laurel raised an eyebrow. "Then why tell you at all? How would you have even met him?"

Oliver sighed. "That's...that's a long story. One I should have told you a long time ago. I'm so sorry."

Her hands curled into fists so that her nails dug into the palms. "Why are you apologizing? This was my fault. Nobody told me to- to climb up onto a bridge railing and almost — how can you even look at me knowing I almost did that?" He was supposed to be furious with her. Not this. She didn't know how to deal with this.

"I'm not going to judge you, Laurel. I would never judge you for this."

"Shouldn't you? It was so stupid." Her eyes squeezed shut. "I'm- I'm a mess or broken or _something._ I have to be."

"I nearly killed myself on the island," he stated, point-blank.

She looked back around at him, a sharp pain in her chest. "What—"

"One of the people that tortured me," he told her quietly, never breaking eye contact. "He left me in a cell with a gun. I was drugged and in pain, and I couldn't see a way out of it or how coming home would be of benefit to any of my loved ones. I thought I would only ruin them. And I picked up the gun."

He'd told her once there'd been times he had _wanted_ to die. To know he'd come so close to acting on it...Laurel took a step closer. "What stopped you?"

"You," he answered simply to her shock. "I saw you. A few times, actually, over those years. But you spoke to me. You told me that if I ended it there, then the people we both cared about who had already died, it would have been for nothing. And that you and my mother and Thea needed me to come home."

Laurel's eyes were stinging. It hadn't been real, of course. They both knew that. But to know that she had mattered that much to him, that the semblance of her presence could pull someone back from the brink, it was almost too much.

"You've been through so much. So much more than me."

He shook his head. "You've been through more than people realize. My pain, it's easy for people to see. They see the scars, they know about my time away. I was on an island and, for the most part, so alone. But you...Laurel, you've been surrounded by people and yet you've been just as alone as I was."

"Some of that was my fault," she insisted. "I could have reached out or listened. I do have a problem, you and my father were right."

"But we didn't reach you. That's the thing. In my darkest moments, you've been there for me. And I haven't been there for you." His gaze was shame-filled now. "I left you on your island, and I went back to my own."

"I haven't _really_ been there, Ollie. You imagined me. The real me, I'm—"

"Damaged. We both are," he agreed. "But maybe we can finally help each other for real."

He seemed so earnest and sure. She wanted with all her heart to believe him, but the doubts still nagged at her. "You really mean that?"

"I do." Oliver took her hands. "I know you have every reason not to trust me. That's okay. I'm going to do whatever it takes to prove it to you. Just promise me if you ever feel the way you did that night, if you ever start thinking that way again, you talk to someone. It doesn't have to be to me. Just someone." His eyes were practically begging her. "We all care so much about you, Laurel. I couldn't imagine it if we lost you."

There was a lump in her throat now that she swallowed down. The pain she'd been feeling there seemed to be lessening as well, or maybe she just was feeling too much right now to really pay it any mind. "I promise. The same goes for you."

Oliver let go of her hands, only to cup her face and kiss her forehead. Laurel stood there, loosely gripping his forearms and letting the moment simply hang in the air between them.

"I promise," he echoed.

She nodded and finally stepped back. "I was trying to get home to see my father. He's in the hospital."

"I've seen him. He's stable, but it's going to take some recovery," he told her, a frown pulling his lips down. Some of that shame was back in his eyes. "We'll take the first plane out of here so we can get you there."

Laurel accepted his arm but kept hold of her bag as they started walking away from the hospital. "You're not paying for my ticket."

"I'm insisting that I do. Please? I lost track of the time and couldn't really get gifts for anyone this year."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "Well, then I'm buying your ticket since I forgot presents this year too." They didn't really touch on why; that for one terrible night she'd thought she wouldn't be around to give them.

"Actually, I'm asking for your company at the Verdant for my Christmas gift. No drinks, I promise," he added.

"Then why?"

"There's a lot I want to tell you. And show you, if you'll let me." The completely serious look to his face and tone of his voice let her know this was absolutely not some kind of come on. A part of her was relieved; she was not in the right frame of mind for that kind of thing. "I think it should help us both."

"Okay, then. I'll be there," she agreed after a moment. Then Laurel hugged his arm. "Merry Christmas, Ollie."

He smiled for her, not the playboy smirk or CEO grin. Just Oliver. "Merry Christmas, Laurel."

If she'd known a year ago at that party with Tommy just where he life would have ended up a year from then, she would have never believed it. A part of her still didn't. But there was no going back; only forward. Whatever it took, she and Oliver would do it together.

—-

_Nine months later_

Barry had a lot to process upon waking up from a coma that had lasted the better part of a year. STAR Labs and Dr. Wells were in disgrace, Iris had a boyfriend and only just when he'd finally gotten abs. Even if the reason why was almost impossible to believe.

But the impossible was exactly what he'd been looking for.

Barry had been disappointed when Dr. Wells shot down his idea to help protect the city from the emerging metahuman threat as Cisco and Caitlin had helpfully explained to him the term was. On top of that, Joe was angry at him for insisting Clyde Mardon was still alive and had weather-controlling powers. So he'd decided to seek out another source for advice.

He hadn't really known what Oliver would say when he'd called him up, but the man had directed him to meet him on top of a roof in his home city of Starling. With his new powers, Barry had actually made it there just ahead of the archer, who came to stand there in his suit and the mask Barry had made for him.

He then explained his situation as best he could without getting bogged down in the details. "I know it sounds crazy," he admitted, even if the one case he'd helped Oliver on had involved an out of the ordinary situation of its own.

"Not as crazy as you might think," Oliver replied. The cryptic response had Barry raising his eyebrows. "I know you're right about the explosion causing people to exhibit abilities. The man who was making the Mirakuru found that out the hard way when he tried to abduct Laurel."

"Laurel!" Barry blurted. It all came back to him in that moment, the bridge and the cafe. He felt incredible guilt for not thinking to ask before. "You found her? She's okay?"

"Yeah. She's doing a lot better," Oliver told him, and his face lit up with a smile Barry had never really seen on the archer's face before.

"So, you do know her?" It had seemed that way based on the vigilante's reaction during that phone call they'd had all those months ago. Barry could only be glad he'd chosen the right thing to do.

"Yeah, we've known each other a long time. Actually, we, uh, we made things official last month. Again," the archer muttered. If Barry wasn't mistaken, there was a redness under his scruff.

He was too busy beaming to care. "That's great! I'm so glad to hear that." Nine months really could change things! Barry was happy to finally hear about something that had decidedly changed for the better.

"Yeah. She wanted to meet you up here, too, when you called, but her sister's in town. They're probably about fifty rooftops that way," Oliver said, pointing out across the city.

"That's great," Barry repeated, still grinning. He'd known there had to be people in her life who cared! Something Oliver had said occurred to him, though. "Wait, Laurel has powers?"

Oliver nodded. "We think so. She took your advice about a trip to Central and was there when the particle accelerator exploded." Barry winced, but Oliver continued, "It might have ended up saving her life. We've been testing it on our own for a while."

"In the field?"

Oliver nodded. "That's why I know you're cut out for this life, Barry. With your powers, you and Laurel can do things I could never hope to. You can be better than me, for your city. Watching over it like a guardian angel, making a difference. Saving people in a flash."

Barry left the rooftop in much higher spirits than when he'd arrived. For the heck of it, he sped over in the direction Oliver had indicated Laurel might be in; a part of him wanted to see how she was doing for himself.

As Barry ran, he noticed a couple odd things happening ahead of him. There were two people on a rooftop. Two women in fact, but neither Barry recognized. One was a blonde in black leather. The other was younger and had dark hair hidden under a hood and a quiver of arrows. In slow motion, he watched her fire off three in quick succession towards the blonde woman, who stood there defenseless.

The lightning he was only just starting to really understand flickered behind his eyes, and Barry raced forward, pushing the blonde out of the path of the arrows. He turned back and faced the brunette, who immediately took a swipe at him with her bow, her eyes hazy and unfocused.

Barry didn't quite dodge her swing and he landed hard on the roof's surface, the wind knocked out of him. "Come on, come on," he wheezed, trying to figure out how to access his powers once again.

"What the hell!" The blonde exclaimed. She rolled onto her feet first, charging the brunette who had nearly aimed an arrow at Barry in the meantime. He watched as they exchanged a series of punches and kicks, seemingly evenly matched. "Thea, why are you doing this?"

"Sara!" A voice called in the distance, one he thought he recognized. Hurried footsteps clanged on metal. A fire escape, he realized dimly. "Get back!"

A high-pitched scream the likes of which he'd never heard pierced the air, as over Barry's head the air seemed to ripple in waves with the sound. The blonde had leapt back out of the way, leaving the brunette — Thea? — to get knocked onto her back by the force of it. Barry looked back towards the source just as the sound cut off.

He was met with the sight of a far different Laurel than the woman he had met. Her hair was a much lighter shade, for one thing. She wore a jean jacket, flannel shirt and dark pants rather than the more formal pantsuit and coat combo she'd had on the last time. Her face had a healthy fullness to it and there was strength in her stance.

The woman he had met hadn't known how to go on living; this woman was very much alive.

She ran to who was obviously her sister. "Sara! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for the help. And thanks to that guy, even if I have no idea where the hell he came from."

Laurel looked around at him and her eyes widened. "Barry!"

"Hey. Just wanted to say hi while I was in the neighborhood." He accepted her hand to help get back onto his feet. "Wasn't really expecting a fight."

"Well, I'm glad you found it," she remarked. Her gaze landed on the attacker next. "Thea...I don't understand."

The sisters stood over the unconscious woman — closer to a girl, really, with her small build and delicate features. Barry came over and crouched down, lifting one of the girl's eyelids. "She's been drugged. Did you see? She was totally out of it."

"I thought she was sober," said Sara.

"She is. Or she's supposed to be," Laurel answered. "Oliver hasn't heard from her in a bit since everything with Moira…"

The sisters exchanged a solemn look. Then Sara's expression darkened further.

"It's gotta be Merlyn."

"Malcolm?" Laurel asked in surprise.

"That's why I'm here. The League received intelligence he survived the Undertaking, and Ra's wants proof. I'm supposed to find him so he can be brought back to answer to his violations of the League's code." Sara looked over at him. "I think you saved me from some kind of setup."

Barry's posture straightened slightly. Maybe slightly on accident, he'd already started to prove Oliver right.

"We need to get Thea to her brother," Laurel decided, scooping the girl up into her arms. Sara took possession of the bow and quiver of arrows Thea had been carrying. Then Laurel cast him an apologetic smile. "I wish we had more time to talk."

"That's okay. We can catch up later," Barry told her. "You have enough going on. And I have to be getting back."

They shared a nod, each knowing what wasn't being said. That there _would_ be time to talk. Much more time.

Barry left Laurel standing on a rooftop, no longer worried about his new friend. She'd found her way out of the dark.


End file.
